The English Wife

by Adrienne Chinn

  ‘I imagine that was hard for you.’ Sophie looks over at Mavis. ‘Maybe there’s a taxi I can take?’

  ‘A taxi to Tippy’s Tickle?’ Mavis laughs. ‘Did you hear that, Sam? No, m’dear. It’s too far for that. Sam’s your best bet unless you hires a car. Only they’re all out getting’ folks to Gambo and Lewisporte.’

  ‘Well, Princess Grace, it looks like I’m your man.’

  Sophie rolls her eyes. ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘You could always bunk up in the legion hall with a thousand others.’

  Sophie fixes Sam with a glare that could freeze the Sahara. ‘I’m only going with you because Mavis knows you.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll be all right with Sam, duckie,’ Mavis says, patting Sophie’s arm. ‘Sweetest fellow you’d ever meet. Even all those years he was down in Boston didn’t rub it out of him. That’s as long as you don’t gets on his bad side. Now that’s another story. Whatever you do, you don’t wants to do that.’

  Chapter 8

  Norwich, England – 27 July 1940

  The late afternoon sun slides into Dame Edith’s attic art studio through a window filmed with a fine layer of dust. The light casts a halo around the helmet worn by the young woman perched on a stool in front of the artist. She holds a gas mask as she looks past the artist’s shoulder at Dame Edith’s parrot, Sir Ralph, who sits preening his rainbow plumage on his perch by the door.

  Dame Edith thrusts her paintbrush at Ellie and wipes her hands on her beige gaberdine smock, smearing it with streaks of the cadmium yellow, raw sienna and chromium oxide green paints Ellie had had to rush out to Jarrolds to buy during her lunchtime.

  ‘That will do for today, Corporal Cross. When can you come by again? We’ll only need a couple more sittings. I’ll fill in the background scenery afterwards.’

  The young woman yawns and stretches. ‘I’ll check my rota and ring you tomorrow, if that’s all right. Things have been pretty quiet since that chap popped a few blighters down on us on the nineteenth. We’re working on getting a barrage balloon up over by Fairfield Road, and they’ve got me doing recruitment now.’ Handing the gas mask and helmet to Ellie, she sweeps her eyes over the younger woman. ‘Have you thought about joining up with the WAAF? We could use capable young women like you.’

  Ellie smiles politely as she glances over at Dame Edith. ‘Thank you very much, but I’m rather taken up with my art studies right now.’

  The young corporal adjusts her cap. ‘Of course. Well, things look like they may hot up, so do have a think about it. If not the Air Force, there’s always the Red Cross or the fire service. We all must do our bit.’

  Ellie nods. Corporal Cross had no idea how busy her schedule was. She’d been up till midnight last night working on sketches for her submission to the college’s summer exhibition. Then she’d overslept this morning, missing Ruthie at the bus stop on her way into town to the college, and earned a reprimand from the principal, Mr Harris, for being late.

  ‘Yes, of course, Corporal Cross. I’ll think about it.’

  ***

  Ruthie drags the blackout curtains across the cottage window and switches on the ceiling light in the tiny front room.

  ‘Mum’s out at her knitting club, Dad’s gone up to Uncle Jack’s in Fakenham, and Richie’s staying over at Bobby’s tonight. Do you want to stay for tea? We’ve got some tinned salmon. I can make a salmon loaf.’

  Ellie kicks her shoes onto the blue carpet and flops onto the overstuffed green sofa. ‘Can’t tonight, Ruthie. I promised Pops I’d babysit Dottie. It’s Boy Scout night. He’s teaching knots.’

  ‘He’s the Scout Master now as well as the headmaster? He’s rather a glutton for punishment, don’t you think?’

  Ellie shrugs as she thumbs through an issue of Woman’s Own. ‘He’s starting up a marching band too. He says it’s good for the boys’ morale.’

  ‘Righto. Two hundred Catholic boys running around, day in and day out, would do my head in.’ Ruthie heads towards the kitchen. ‘You’ll want bickies? Mum’s made her orange drop cookies. I’ll put the kettle on and we can have a quick cuppa. Turn on the wireless, would you, Ellie? See if there’s any music on the Forces Programme.’

  Tossing aside the magazine, Ellie wanders over to the large wooden wireless on a table beside the gas fire and fiddles the knob until the strains of ‘I’ll Never Smile Again’ filter into the room. She sways around the sofa and the two armchairs with their chintz slipcovers and lacy antimacassars, careful not to knock Ruthie’s mother’s china budgie collection off the display table.

  Ruthie enters the sitting room carrying a pink plastic tray laden with a brown teapot, a small jug of milk, a dish with a couple of teaspoons of sugar, flowery china mugs and a plate of round cookies flecked with orange rind. She sets it down on the coffee table and pours out the tea, adding dollops of milk and a sprinkling of sugar. She hands Ellie a mug of the milky tea and sits on the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her.

  ‘So, what do you think of Charlie?’

  Ellie blows on the hot tea and sits on the sofa. She peers at Ruthie over the rim of her mug. ‘The Newfoundland chap? Really?’

  Ruthie dunks a cookie into her tea. ‘I think he’s a doll. He’s invited me out to the cinema next Saturday. We’re going to see Gone with the Wind at the Electric.’

  ‘You’ve seen that a half a dozen times already. I should know. You dragged me with you.’

  Ruthie giggles. ‘All the more reason to see it again. I can concentrate on Charlie instead of Rhett!’

  ‘Oh, Ruthie. You’re incorrigible.’

  Ruthie smiles slyly at Ellie as she chews her cookie. ‘What about Tom Parsons? He seems nice. Clumsy, but nice.’

  Ellie shrugs. ‘I suppose so. George liked him. He’s going to give George the Newfoundland stamps from his letters for George’s stamp collection.’

  ‘So, George liked him, but you … didn’t?’

  ‘I honestly didn’t think anything of him one way or another.’

  ‘That’s a shame. I thought he was dreamy. A Gary Cooper type, except friendlier.’ She makes a face. ‘Oh well, I’ll have to find someone else to double date with me and Charlie.’

  ‘Ruthie, I’m engaged, remember? I couldn’t date the fellow even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.’

  Ruthie bites into another cookie, catching the crumbs in her tea. ‘He’s a good one, that George. He never gives you any bother. You’re so lucky to have a fellow like that.’

  Ellie settles back into the spongy cushions. She is lucky to have George. She’s just never really thought about it. He’s always been there, ever since they were children at St Augustine’s Catholic School. She just wishes he was a bit more … No, she’s being silly. Ruthie can have her Tyrone Powers and Clark Gables and Charlie Murphys. Maybe George isn’t a dish, exactly, but he’s certainly presentable. George is all she needs. And her art, of course.

  Why everyone thinks life is so complicated, she’ll never understand. Life is incredibly simple. Only people make it complicated.

  Chapter 9

  Northern Newfoundland Coast – 12 September 2001

  Sam takes off his helmet and looks over his shoulder at Sophie. ‘There’s a payphone around the back by the toilet. Didn’t know they’d closed the library today. You hungry? I’m getting myself a Coke.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Sophie winches the helmet off and runs her fingers through her brown fringe. She squirms off the motorbike seat and straightens her velvet skirt. What was she thinking, accepting the ride to Tippy’s Tickle on the back of a stranger’s motorcycle to see an aunt who might not even know she existed? She probably should have stayed in Gander with the others. This was quite likely a huge mistake.

  She tugs at her jacket and readjusts her shoulder pads. ‘So much for my interview suit.’

  Sam swings his leg over the bike and kicks the stand into place. He points at her scuffed patent leather shoes, the shine obscured by a thick film of dirt. ‘Looks like your shoes are done for
, too.’

  Sophie glares at him as she rubs a dusty shoe against her leg. ‘I didn’t exactly plan to be in the bloody middle of nowhere today.’

  A short, burly man wearing grease-stained blue overalls and a Boston Bruins baseball hat ambles over to them from the garage, the stub of a yellow pencil tucked behind his left ear.

  Sam slaps the man on his shoulder. ‘Life’s like that sometimes, isn’t it, Wince?’

  ‘Sure is, b’y. How’s she cuttin’, there?’ Wince grabs the handle of the petrol pump and unscrews the cap on the bike’s petrol tank.

  ‘Best kind, b’y.’

  Sophie runs her hands over the wrinkles in her skirt. ‘I have no idea what you’re saying. I expect there’s toilet paper?’

  Wince peers at Sophie with eyes that pierce her with their blueness, and raises a thick brown eyebrow. ‘Sure thing, maid. You hasn’t fallen off the end of the world yet. You gotta go up to Brimstone Head on Fogo to do that. We’ve gots plenty of toilet paper in Newfoundland.’

  ‘Sam said you have a phone?’

  Wince jabs his thumb towards the weather-beaten clapboard garage. ‘On the wall behind the garage. The dial sticks. You gotta press hard. Make sure you got some loonies.’

  ‘Loonies?’

  ‘A Canadian dollar.’ Sam reaches into the back pocket of his leather trousers and fishes out a handful of coins. He flips a coin to Sophie.

  She turns the brass coin over in her hand. The Queen’s head on one side, a swimming bird on the other. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’ll need two if you’re calling your aunt and New York.’

  ‘I don’t have Ellie’s number.’

  ‘Give us your pencil, Wince.’ Sam takes a wrinkled receipt out of his jacket pocket and scribbles on the back. He hands the receipt to Sophie with another loonie. ‘Tell her I’ll get you there in half an hour.’

  ‘You know her number? And you didn’t tell me?’

  ‘How was I to know you didn’t have her number?’

  ***

  Wince shakes his head as he and Sam watch Sophie stumble over the gravel in her high heels to the toilet. ‘That’s some maid, Sam, b’y. Fancy askin’ ’bout toilet paper.’

  ‘I’d say she’s what you call “high maintenance”. Don’t let her get to you, b’y. She’ll be gone before you know it. Back to the big city doing whatever it is she does.’

  ‘Suppose you’re right, b’y. Can’t let these Come From Aways get up my nose.’ He looks up at the blue sky, a solitary cloud hanging overhead. ‘You seen the news, Sam? Terrible, terrible thing. I was shitbaked when I saw the TV last night. I felt like I was watching some kind of disaster film.’

  Sam shakes his head. ‘Just awful. There were thousands at the airport. Mayor Elliott over in Gander told me he figures there’s almost ten thousand people who’ve just landed from all over the place.’

  ‘Jaysus God. That’s a lots of people.’

  ‘They’re bussing some out to Gambo and Lewisporte. Putting them up in schools and churches and legion halls. The bus drivers cancelled their strike to help out. I was down there with the Warriors helping out. We jumped on our bikes as soon as we heard the call out on the radio.’

  ‘Well, you gots to, don’t you?’ Wince squats down to check the pressure on the bike’s tyres. ‘I hears some of the locals are puttin’ the plane people up in their own houses. Government told them not to, but you know you can’t tell Newfoundlanders not to be hospitable. We all gots to stick together at a time like this.’ Wince nods towards the garage. ‘What’s she doin’ up all this way?’

  ‘She’s got relatives in Tippy’s Tickle. Ellie Parsons is her aunt.’

  ‘Ellie’s her aunt?’ Wince grunts as he rises. ‘What’s that make you, then? Her cousin?’

  ‘No relation. Ellie’s my mother-in-law.’

  ‘How’d you get roped into drivin’ her up all this way?’

  ‘Mavis Hennessy insisted, and you know you can’t say no to Mavis.’

  ‘Oh, God, yes. I knows Mavis. I plays cards at theirs when I’m in Gander visiting Uncle Garland at the home. There’s no sayin’ no to Mavis.’

  Sam nods towards the garage. ‘Your TV in the garage working? She doesn’t know what happened in New York. They didn’t want to tell them at the airport. There was only one payphone working and they had Joyce Fudge on the other line down at BT answering the calls, telling everyone they couldn’t redirect. They didn’t want people panicking. She had to get back home when her kids got home from school, so they put an “Out of Service” sign on the phone.’

  ‘Sure, b’y. It’s on every channel. Saddest thing. Still can’t believe it.’

  ***

  ‘Hello? Ellie speaking.’

  Sophie bites her lip at the sound of the woman’s voice, the English accent lightly tinged with the local lilt.

  ‘Aunt Ellie? It’s Sophie Parry. Dottie and George’s daughter.’

  The line goes silent for a moment. ‘Sophie?’

  Sophie coils the payphone’s rusty cord around her finger. ‘I’m … I’m sorry. I know this is unexpected. I was flying over to New York from London and my plane was diverted to Gander. In fact, a lot of planes were diverted there for some reason. I still don’t know why. Something was going on in New York and they shut down the airspace. That’s all I know.’

  ‘You’re in Gander? With the plane people?’

  ‘Well, no. I was. I’m at the Irving petrol station on the way to Tippy’s Tickle. I got a lift with someone called Sam Byrne on his motorcycle. I … I had your address from an old Christmas card, but I only just got your number from Sam. I couldn’t get to a phone earlier anyway. The payphones were out of order at the airport and our mobile phones weren’t working. They’re bussing everyone to schools and gyms. There are thousands of us.’

  Another silence. ‘My goodness, Sophie. You’re really here? In Newfoundland?’

  Sophie glances at the scrubby spruce trees behind the garage. ‘Yes, I’m really here.’

  ‘You haven’t heard what happened?’

  ‘Well, I heard something about an incident at the World Trade Center, but I don’t know anything else.’ Sophie swallows down the lump that is forming in her throat. She licks her dry lips. ‘I’m so sorry, Aunt Ellie. Perhaps I should’ve stayed with the others. You don’t know me from Adam. I’m sorry I bothered you.’

  ‘Good heavens! Don’t be silly, Sophie. Get back on that bike, and tell that Sam to drive carefully. We’ll talk as soon as you get here. Florie’s got a stew on, and there’s plenty of room here. You’re family, my dear. You can stay as long as you like.’

  ‘It’s only for a few days. I don’t want to impose.’

  ‘You’re not imposing. You’re welcome for as long as you want.’

  ‘Thanks so much, Aunt Ellie.’

  She hangs the receiver back on its hook, blowing her fringe out of her eyes as she fishes her address book out of her Longchamp bag. Taking a deep breath, she dials the New York number.

  ***

  Sophie presses the receiver to her ear. ‘Oh, my God. I had no idea. Is everyone okay?’

  ‘We’re fine here.’ The receptionist’s voice wavers. ‘But we had clients in the North Tower. We just, we just—’

  Sophie holds her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, no. I’m so sorry … Excuse me, what’s your name?’

  ‘Jackie.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Jackie. They didn’t tell us anything.’

  ‘It’s like a war zone down where the Towers were. There’s smoke and dust everywhere. The whole financial district is under a black cloud.’

  ‘Good Lord.’

  ‘Look, don’t worry about the meeting, Ms Parry. It’s the last thing we’re thinking about right now. We’ll sort something out whenever you get here. Just call me.’

  Sophie expels a puff of air as relief floods over her. ‘Oh, thank goodness. Thanks very much.’

  The receptionist sucks in a breath. ‘My brother-in-law’s a fireman. He had the d
ay off. It was my nephew’s birthday. Frank was called in. We haven’t heard from him since yesterday. His boy’s only four.’

  Sophie leans her forehead against the payphone. The world’s fallen apart and all I’ve been worried about is getting to a bloody job interview. She runs her tongue over her lips. ‘I’m sure he’ll be all right, Jackie. Don’t worry. Just let Mr Niven know my plane was diverted to a place called Gander in Newfoundland. They’ll fly us out as soon as they can. They’re saying two or three days. I’ll call you as soon as I know more.’

  ‘I’ll let him know.’

  ‘I’m sure everything will work out for your family.’

  Jackie’s voice catches in a swallowed sob. ‘Thanks, Ms Parry. I hope so.’

  ***

  Sophie stares up at the television in Wince Moss’s garage. A silver plane, the sun glinting off its wings as it banks, spears into the tower. A cloud of grey smoke, growing like a cancer, obliterates the blue summer sky. Orange flames devour the metal structure. She raises her hand to her mouth in the only possible response.

  Silence.

  Chapter 10

  Norwich, England – 30 July 1940

  The bombs woke her. She didn’t know they were bombs at the time, of course. But what she remembers is that she was so solidly asleep, she was in that place of blackness between dreams and wakefulness. Then her eyes opened, and, for a moment, the blackness of unconsciousness and the blackness of the lightless room melded together so that she wasn’t sure whether she was dreaming.

  A thrumming. Outside the window. Growing louder.

  Ellie kneels up in her bed, glancing over to Dottie who is still asleep under her covers. She peeks behind the blackout curtain. The sky is clear blue, with a few puffs of clouds hovering around the early morning sun. Then she sees it. A flash of sunlight on a metal wing as it banks and heads back towards the city centre. Growing larger as it approaches. The bomb falling through the blueness, past the oak trees on Victoria Terrace. An enormous crash. A cloud blowing up skywards, pink with brick dust. The black cross on the bottom of the wing as the Heinkel powers over the house.